


Still Ill

by EvilEd



Series: I Keep Mine Hidden [2]
Category: The Comic Strip Presents..., The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Burns, Bus crashes, Colins here to be dramatic, Hospitals, M/M, Unrequited Love, vyvs pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23045251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilEd/pseuds/EvilEd
Summary: It just wasn't like the old days anymoreNo, it wasn't like those days, am I still ill?Or,Vyvyan visits Rick at the hospital after the crash and they both try to ignore their feelings for one another.Or,Rick gets a visitor from someone he'd rather not see.
Relationships: Vyvyan Basterd/Rick (Young Ones)
Series: I Keep Mine Hidden [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654867
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look at this erratic posting schedule we got going on here. Gotta keep you guys on your toes. Anyway, it's Rik's birthday over here so I GUESS this counts as a tribute? Does it count as a tribute if you're torturing one of their characters and making them gay for one of his best friend's characters? Sorry Rik. The love is there, I promise.

_“Look out! Cliff!”_

_Vyvyan actually_ felt _the fundamental shifting of his vital organs as the bus sailed over the edge – his stomach seemed to slide up and wedge itself between his lungs, forcing his heart upwards and driving it into the hollow of his throat. His mind drew a blank, but his mouth had no such trouble, and the scream that erupted from somewhere inside his rearranged chest was not only loud but incredibly girly. If he’d been in a different state of mind he might have felt embarrassed, but at that moment the closest he came to a coherent thought was when he wondered if the haphazard stitching job on his neck would withstand the force, or if his head was about to be separated from his shoulders for the second time in two months._

_*_

“Morning, bogey-bum.” Vyv said as he stepped into the dimly lit hospital room, tossed his vest to one side and dropped to his knees, “Alright Dawn? How’s he going?”

“More of the same.” Dawn replied, her smile warm and comforting as she redressed the melted flesh across Rick’s back, “How are your legs this morning, Vyvyan?”

“All healed. Ready to give this girly bastard a _proper_ kick up the arse.”

“Well, another few days and he might be well enough to _receive_ a proper kick up the arse.”

Had this not been part of a rapidly developing routine, the on-duty nurse who was currently dressing the wounds on Rick’s back might have been concerned with the punk’s hostile temperament. But by then Vyvyan had been coming to see the poet every day for nearly a week, and Rick’s regular rotation of medical staff had learned to pay it no mind. Despite his outward appearance, brash nature, and obvious dislike for the patient, Vyvyan caused little to no trouble on the ward. Provided, of course, that he was filled in on any medical decisions regarding Rick’s care, and was not asked to leave at the end of visiting hours.

And if anybody had told Rick that after a terrible, violent bus crash, it was _Vyvyan_ who stayed glued to his bedside at all hours of the day and most of the night, he probably wouldn’t have believed them. Although, to be fair, _by_ his bedside was probably the wrong phrase. _Under_ his bed would have been a far more accurate description, because the problem with the severity of Rick’s burns was that they all took place on his back. And the method for treating this particular problem meant that rather than a run of the mill hospital bed, Rick was fitted on some sort of bizarre contraption consisting of thick canvas straps pulled taut across a wireframe. He laid on his stomach, burned flesh facing upwards, with his face forced through a hole in the canvas. So in order to have any sort of real conversation with him, well. Laying _under_ the bed seemed like a natural solution, really.

And so it was _under the bed_ that Vyv disappeared to, once he’d offered Dawn his customary greeting, and once he was secured in the safety of such a tightly confined space, he laid on his back so that they were facing each other and offered Rick a meek little grin. It was not returned.

“He’s still out then?” Vyv asked.

“Sedated.” Dawn agreed, “He should come round soon.”

“Brilliant,” Vyv muttered. His interest in Dawn had already reached its breaking point. Still, she’d held it for approximately two minutes total, and that _had_ to be some sort of record. She left the room as quietly as possible, careful to shut the door behind her as she went. Three shifts a week wasn’t much, but it had been enough for her to learn that if Rick was out for the count, Vyvyan would want to talk to him for a while. It was sweet, really. Sweet and rather sad. She hoped Mr Pratt knew how lucky he was to have someone so devoted to his care.

“…Erm…Well, Neil got discharged yesterday, so it looks like you drew the short straw. He’s making a big bloody fuss about it back at the house, o’course, but you know what he’s like. Always crying out for attention. Dawn reckons it’ll be another few weeks till you can come home. Tell you what, poof, it’s bloody quiet at the house without you. At first I thought I might enjoy it, you know? Nobody ranting and raving at me when I’m trying to watch the bloody telly. But…I dunno. It’s just… boring, really.”

*

_When the bus hit the floor and Vyvyan’s internal organs were forced back to rights via a strong gravitational pull, he found that he was no longer behind the driver’s seat, but had been thrown to the back of the bus with the others. By some miracle it seemed that no one had been seriously hurt, and the punk was relieved to see that he’d landed relatively close to Rick, who immediately shot him a dazed, sheepish smile. For a brief instant, it seemed that the four of them were on the same wavelength – united by the trauma of shared experience. As if on cue, they spoke in perfect unison, uttering the same sentiment in oddly similar tones._

_“Phew! That was close!_

_And then the bus blew up._

*

It was actually quite nice under the bed. Cosy. Safe. Any closer, and the punk and the poet could have been snogging. As it was, gusts of air and drops of saliva tumbled out of Rick’s mouth periodically, coming to land on Vyvyan’s pale, pockmarked face. Different circumstances might have warranted a degree of hostility over the indiscretion, but Vyvyan certainly seemed incapable of providing it. Instead, he offered up the same awestruck gaze he’d been inflicting on Rick for weeks now; a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth and wide unflinching eyes. Thank Christ the poet wasn’t awake to see it. Feeling brave, Vyv reached up and ran a finger down the side of Rick’s face, stroking the stray strands of hair that hadn’t been chewed up by flame and ash. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to – willingly touching other people. Physical contact had always felt like a line he didn’t particularly want to cross, and he liked to avoid it where possible. Rick was the exception to that rule, of course. Had been long before this. He was a physical person by nature, affectionate even with people he didn’t particularly like (See: Vyvyan.) And before, Vyv hadn’t thought much of it. Of all those lingering touches, the way the stupid prick grabbed his arm and clung to him if there was a vampire in the bathroom or someone fired a gun in the kitchen. But now, well. Now he wondered if there had been something more to it all along.

*

_It all must have happened very quickly. On a fundamental level, Vyvyan knew that the amount of time between their abrupt landing and the explosion must have been minute. Seconds at most._

_But to him it had felt like hours._

_He saw it all with startling clarity – slow motion – like the exciting climax of a really good film. Each frame etched across every inch of his conscious memory. He was on his stomach, up against the rear wall with glass sticking into his arms, and Rick had been somewhere near his boot, sprawled across the seat. And the stupid git must have known something; sensed something Vyvyan had failed to, because the instant the bus caught fire he was there, on top of the punk, shielding him from the worse of the blast. Vyvyan somehow managed to turn his head – actually_ saw _Rick go up in flames. Saw his pigtails catch fire and his eyes fill with pain and fear, feel the heat radiating off him as they were both sent rocketing backwards. Yes, it might all have happened very quickly, but as far as Vyvyan was concerned there could be no doubt. Rick had essentially sacrificed himself to save the punk._

_*_

“…Why’d you do it poof?” Vyv whispered, and even as he spoke the skin on the backs of his legs seemed to go out in sympathy, throbbing and stinging in a way it hadn’t for days. “What were you playing at, hey? Stupid git. Didja do it on purpose? Why…why should you care?”

He cleared his throat, knowing full well that this sort of verbal speculation could come to nothing good, and yet somehow failing to stop himself.

“…Should be me in that bed. Not you. Should be me.” And he meant it, too. Well and truly. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever made an effort to protect him from something, and considering the…complex nature of his relationship with Rick, the sacrifice didn’t exactly feel well deserved.

“Hmph.” Rick groaned, yawned, and seemed visibly disappointed when he opened his eyes to find Vyvyan lying there, greeting the punk with a look of absolute disdain. “Oh, it’s _you_.”

“Hallo!” Vyv lifted his fingers in a coy half-wave, his smile turning into his trademark grin of sadistic intent. “Sleep alright?”

“Haven’t you got anything better to do than annoy me all blimmin’ day?”

“Nope. Cleared my schedule, just for you.”

“Oh, how kind.” 

“I’m all about kindness, me.” Vyvyan agreed, “How’s that saying go? You’ve got to be kind to be cruel?”

“Cruel to be kind.”

“Well, either way.” The punk fell into a comfortable silence, looking up at Rick with a surprisingly vulnerable expression, the way a starved puppy might look up at its new master after a feed.

“Stop that!” Rick snapped, spittle flying in all directions. If there was one thing he couldn’t stomach, it was being _stared_ at by the one person he hated most in the world. A glare might have been alright, or maybe the occasional pull of a face – but not the vulnerable expression of wide-eyed wonder that looked so bizarre and out of place on the punk’s otherwise intimidating features.

“Stop what?”

“Staring!”

“I wasn’t!”

“You were! You still are! All you ever blimmin’ well do these days is _stare_ at me, like I’m the ruddy messiah, like you’re waiting for me to drop down dead!” The force of his voice, and the strenuous head gestures that accompanied it, was enough to shift the heavy canvas under his middle and cause a sudden wave of pain to shoot up his back as the iron bedframe rocked. He grimaced, swore, and watched as a thin stream of drool rolled off his bottom lip and landed on Vyvyan’s nose – connecting them briefly (and rather grotesquely) before it was severed by an unintentional flick of Rick’s tongue.

“Well, there’s not much else to look at, is there?”

“Well piss off home then!”

“Nah. Then you’d actually get a bit of peace and quiet, and we can’t have that.”

“Oh, yes. Heaven forbid.” The poet rolled his eyes, but the fondness in his voice was unmistakable. Things were different now, after all, whether they wanted to admit it or not. So while the banter between them did continue for quite some time, it was not at its usual pre-crash levels of spite and disdain. It was… a bit friendlier. Kinder. Acted out as a sort of security blanket, a coping mechanism rather than genuine hatred. Because even if they didn’t want to discuss it, they were both fully aware of what had happened when that bus went up in flames. And just as Vyvyan knew that Rick had tried to shield him from the worst of the blast, so too did Rick know that Vyvyan had attempted to pick him up and _run_ him to the hospital on foot, and that the punk had tried to oversee Rick’s emergency surgery about three or four times before the nurses were forced to sedate him in order to keep him in his hospital bed. Yes, the game was up now. The cat was well and truly out of the bag. Rick and Vyv _cared_ about one another. They were…friends. Maybe even best friends. And that was a surprising revelation, really, but never the less a fact both boys were more than willing to accept. Not necessarily _acknowledge_ , true, but it was still a considerable step in the right direction.

But although the possibility of being something _more_ than that had only just started to seriously enter Vyvyan’s head, it certainly hadn’t made any impression on the people’s poet.

…Yet.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! I'm pretty sure this is the last chapter for this fic in the series before we move onto the next bit, but just be aware it's going to jump forward to when Rick's out of the hospital. But hey, you can all cope with that right? Unlike certain glam metal bassists and people's poets, I don't really wanna drag it out to be any longer than it needs to be. Still, I hope you enjoy this part, even if it is a tad short!

_“Right, where is he? I said where is he?! …What do you mean_ who _? My little brother, that’s who!”_

Rick opened one eye, roused from sleep by an uncomfortably familiar voice. He turned his head to one side and glanced up at Vyvyan, who was stood by the window like some sort of violent watch dog. He had the blinds parted with two fingers, craning his neck to get a better look at something _just_ beyond his frame of vision.

“Vyv?” Rick croaked. The punk turned, grinning.

“You should see this twat, Rick. He’s giving the nurses a real hard time of it, screaming about wanting to see his little brother or something, I dunno. But Christ, what a _poof_. He’s got all this long black hair all over the place, face full of makeup, and - ”

“And he’s wearing a lot of glittery spandex.” Rick groaned.

“Yeah! He…hang on, how’d you know that?”

“Because I’m his little brother.” Rick replied.

“You what?”

_“Look, I know he’s here! Pratt? Rick Pratt? I’ll be on the list – Colin Grig - …erm…Colin Pratt.”_

“I’ll get him in here, then, shall I?”

“Vyv, don’t -”

But Vyvyan had already stepped out into the corridor and closed the distance between himself and this bizarre spectacle of a man, tapped him on the shoulder and managed to get his undivided attention.

“You looking for Rick?” He asked. And Christ, at this distance it was _easy_ to see the family resemblance. They could have been twins! Colin took a subconscious step back at the sight of the punk in front of him, then something akin to recognition sparked behind his eyes, and he forced a wary smile.

“You’re Vyvyan, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, look, are you looking for Rick or not?”

“Of course I’m looking for Rick! Who else would I be looking for?! I haven’t come all the way down here to look for someone _else’s_ little brother!”

“…Right. Well, he’s in there, so - ”

“I don’t want to see him!” Rick yelled, “I don’t want to see anyone! Tell him he can blimmin’ well piss off!”

Colin’s face lit up like a Christmas tree (an unprecedented and rather unexpected reaction to the sound of Rick’s voice, in Vyvyan’s opinion) and he immediately pushed past the punk to gain access to the hospital room. Too late, it occurred to Vyv that if he _really_ wanted to make things up to Rick, it would be in his best interest to stop this mad jumble of hair, foundation and spandex. Instead, he trailed behind Colin in some sort of daze, fascinated at the prospect of Rick having _any_ siblings at all, let alone someone so…different from himself.

“Spots? Spotty?! Are you in here?” Colin opened the door with one swift kick of a platform shoe, tore into the room, and immediately stopped dead in his tracks. At first, Vyv sympathised; he’d reacted similarly the first time. It wasn’t a pretty sight, after all. But then Colin burst into tears (embarrassing, hysterical girly sobs, no less) and any sympathy Vyvyan might have felt went right out the window. As far as he was concerned, it felt more like a desperate grab for attention than any real devastation towards Rick’s condition.

“ _Oh, Spot_.” He wailed, and to Vyvyan’s surprise Rick stuck out a trembling hand and reached for his brother. Colin saw it, took it, then turned to Vyv. “Is he…can I…do I just crawl under the bed? Or?”

“Oh, erm…yeah. That’s what I’ve been doing.” Vyvyan stuck his hands in his pockets, scuffed his feet, grimaced. He didn’t go in for all this…lovey-dovey stuff. Colin, meanwhile, obviously did. He crawled under the bed, looked at Rick, cupped his face and continued to sob.

_“Why_ didn’t you call you stupid git?! I had to hear it from Den!”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.” Rick sniffled, “I wanted you and Alan to focus on mummy and daddy. Was…was there a funeral? Did I miss it?”

“Funeral? For who? What are you on about?”

“For mummy and daddy!” Rick whimpered. Colin shook his head.

“Spots, did you hit your head in the crash? Mummy and daddy aren’t _dead_. They’re fine! They’re on their way now, I think. Worried sick, of course.”

“…But they _are_ dead!” Rick insisted, “They died on the first day of summer break!”

“Well if they are, they’re coping frightfully well. I only spoke to them half an hour ago.”

“But…but I got a call. From aunty…she said…she said they were dead!”

“Aunty? _Our_ aunty?”

“Of course our aunty! Who else would have rung up telling me my parents were dead?!”

Colin paused, “…Well.”

“…Oh.” Rick groaned, “Oh, _no_. They wouldn’t! Surely not! They couldn’t _possibly_ sink that low!”

“I wouldn’t put it past them.” Colin sighed, “Look, did you actually _speak_ to aunty? Or did someone give you the message? Because you know…Uncle Richie’s voice…well. It does resemble a woman’s, really…”

“ _Oh_. _Oh,_ the absolute utter _bastards!_ ” Rick wailed, “But why…for what purpose?!”

“…Well. Actually, now that you mention it…they did say that if you missed another Sunday roast, they’d have to take…drastic measures.”

“But they wouldn’t! Surely-”

“Spot, do you remember the time we forgot Uncle Richie’s birthday? We were only kids, you know. Couldn’t have been older than ten.”

“Of course I remember! He was in a right state.”

“And what did he do?”

“He…he kidnapped our pony and held him for ransom.”

“And?”

“…And sent us packets of glue in the mail every day for six months.”

Vyv snorted, and quickly stepped into the corridor before his laughter could escape from behind the confines of his hand. Colin watched him leave with a smug smile. The punk really _was_ rather dishy. Colin wondered if Rick had noticed.

“My parents. _Not_ dead.”

“No, of course not. They’ll be here in about fifteen minutes to check on you. Probably stuck in traffic, I’d expect.”

“Well. Well, that’s…that’s a blimmin’ relief, I can tell you.” Rick exhaled, settled into the canvas straps beneath his abdomen, but kept a firm hold on Colin’s hand.

“So you’ll see them then? When they get here?”

“Of course not!” Rick snorted, “For Cliff’s sake, I don’t think I’ve seen them since I started college – I’m not about to start now.”

“Oh yes. And what were you going to do _this_ summer? Another six weeks of _couch surfing_ like some bit of street rough, I suppose.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Rick bristled, paling considerably at the thought of another dreadful vacation on Vim’s fold-out sofa, “I was going to split my summer between Redditch and Brighton.” 

“I thought you were going to stay with your not-dead parents for the summer, Prick.” Vyvyan returned to the room with a hint of a smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth. The punk couldn’t see it – thank Cliff – but Rick’s face immediately went bright red at the suggestion, and his eyes silently begged Colin to play along.

“...He was! At their holiday home in…ah…Redditch. Rick gets on _frightfully_ well with our parents. Really, you ought to see them. Peas in a pod. Birds on a wire! Thick as thieves, those three. Why, sometimes I feel like the odd one out!”

Vyv quirked an eyebrow, amused to discover that Colin lied about as well as Rick did.

“Poof?”

“Yes Vyvyan?”

“That’s complete and utter bollocks, isn’t it?”

Rick hesitated, then nodded. “…Yes Vyvyan.”

Colin turned his attention back to the punk – not an easy task, considering he was lying flat on his back under a stretcher – and shot him a wry, conspiratorial smile.

“You seem like the understanding sort.” He ventured, and ignored Rick’s subsequent scoff, “Hasn’t he told you about his little _tiff_ with our parents?”

“Tiff?! _Tiff_?! Colin, they threw me out onto the street!”

“Oh, hardly.” Colin rolled his eyes, but didn’t spare Rick a glance.

“Then why haven’t you told them _your_ filthy little secret, Colin? Hmm? Afraid you might get the same treatment?”

Colin’s mouth snapped shut in an instant, his expression unreadable. Vyvyan barely noticed – he was too busy thinking about Rick’s family dynamic, and how there was a chance it wasn’t _that_ different from his own. Had the poet really been estranged from his parents all this time? _Why_? What had he done? And more importantly, why wasn’t he bragging about it every five minutes?

Evidently, Vyvyan’s internal monologue was written all over his face. Or at the very least, it was clear enough for Colin to decipher. He caught the punk’s eye and that same conspiratorial look returned.

“You’re wondering why he got kicked out, aren’t you?” Colin asked, and then, in a theatrical stage whisper he added, “It’s because he’s-”

“- Good to see you again Colin! Thank you very much for stopping by, but I’m rather tired now, and I think visiting hours are almost over, so you really should be going. Vyvyan? Could you ask the nurse if I can have some more pain killers please?”

“Erm…” Vyvyan frowned, too unsettled by Rick’s pleasant tone and Colin’s cut-off revelation to make any sort of coherent response.

“Thank you very much. Off you go then Vyv, please? I’m in an awful lot of pain.”

“Ah…yeah. Yeah, sure poof…” Vyv was reluctant to leave of course, but he could hardly say no. He still owed the spotty prick, after all. And aside from that…well. He couldn’t remember anyone else _ever_ offering him pleases and thank yous. Least of all Rick. As he left the room he heard a series of frantic, angry whispers pick up between the two brothers, but he couldn’t make out any specifics. Still, he wasn’t stupid. He reckoned he could put two and two together. He just hoped he wasn’t getting the wrong end of the stick and coming up with five.

Part of him wanted to bail Colin up and ask point-blank, but he wasn’t sure he’d get the opportunity, or that the poncy bastard would even admit to anything once Rick had finished _hissing_ at him. And what if the answer was no? What if Colin somehow _guessed_ why Vyvyan was asking, and took it upon himself to tell Rick? The punk had managed to get through almost _three years_ without anyone in the share house knowing about his sexuality, after all. He didn’t exactly want to break the record. Not unless he was absolutely _positive_ it would be safe to do so. Still, it begged the question, didn’t it?

_Was_ Rick gay? Or was it just wishful thinking on Vyvyan’s part?

“Wishful thinking.” Vyv muttered, “Don’t be stupid. Prick’s a girly bastard, but he’s as straight as it gets.”

…And yet, part of him wondered…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much guys!! My update schedule is trash for this fic right now, so I guess...I'll see you when I see you?


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